


you can stay as long as you like

by andouilles



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Fighting Kink, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mania, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andouilles/pseuds/andouilles
Summary: Wade and Peter have a one-night stand, then accidentally become boyfriends.





	1. cheer up, buttercup

When you get paid to kill people for more than half of your life, you tend to lose a lot of friends. Trapped in a cycle of love and loss, the moment Wade got close to someone they would disappear. Leaving, dying, it was all the same. People would come and go. Mostly go.

But not Spidey.

Almost twenty years of kicking ass and Peter B. Parker hadn’t kicked the bucket.

Years of team-ups had made the two of them a package deal. You fight Spider-Man—don’t be surprised when Deadpool shows up. And when you fight Deadpool, don’t be surprised if you end up vivisected. Well, at least that’s how it _used_ to be. Working with Spidey meant a less lethal (fun) approach. Deadpool loaded his gun with rubber bullets...usually. On occasion he liked to play Russian Roulette with live ammo, just to say “ _whoopsie”_ when a real bullet busted some slimebag’s kneecap. Couldn’t blame him for it—old habits die hard.

In the past, Deadpool and Spider-Man went on nightly patrols. It was the same ol’ routine: find some baddies, put them in their place, banter a bit, have a snack, call it a night. Sure, small details would change—like the amount of ass they kicked or if it was more of an ice cream kinda night or a hot dog night, but the point still stood that they were a near-inseparable duo. People on the street had even started referring to them as being “married.”

If _only_ that were the case.

Last he had heard from Peter, it was the news of his divorce, or, at least the long process of divorce beginning. Something about signing papers, splitting up, arguments, blah, blah, blah. It was complicated. As much as Deadpool loved complicated, the intricacies of divorce weren’t exactly in his ballpark.

Nightly team-ups had transformed into occasional meetups, and then finally not seeing each other _period_. For once in his life, Deadpool respected Peter’s space, knew he needed time to sort things out.

A sickening crack penetrated the night’s silence as Deadpool snapped a man’s neck. Another one bites the dust—cue sexy bass line! Besides, he deserved it. Just another forgettable thuggish stock-character. Plopping down on top of the lifeless body, Deadpool pulled out his phone and sent Peter a quick text. The guy had just moved into a new apartment—it was about time to throw a housewarming party. After some heavy coaxing and several heart emojis, Peter sent the address, telling Deadpool to give him an hour or two to get ready.

Three eggplant emojis later, Deadpool hailed a cab and immediately headed to Peter’s new bachelor pad.

After letting himself into the studio apartment, Deadpool stopped in the middle of the room and took in the scenery—lots of boxes to be unpacked;  pizza boxes, cardboard boxes, the place was just a _bungalow_ of boxes.

A familiar hiss of shower water running and the faint hum of music led Deadpool to the bathroom. It was extremely hot and steamy, which he was _totally_ into, but even _this_ felt excessive. Blaringly loud music bounced off the walls and drowned the entire room with a thinking-about-dying sort of depressing song.

“Brand New? Go figure.” In response to his voice, Spidey screeched. Deadpool grabbed the phone sitting near the sink and paused the music. ”I always thought you’d be more into Fall Out Boy when it comes to emo music. Color me surprised!”

Ripping open the shower curtains, a wet, fully suited-up Spider-Man greeted Deadpool. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head at Deadpool before reaching for his towel.

“Save the music recommendations for a mixtape, Wade.” Peter pulled off his mask and squinted at Deadpool. “How did you get in my apartment?”

“Window. Obvious answer.”

“Yeah, well, I said I needed some time. Needed some time to, uh,” Peter looked down at himself, still dripping wet in his Spider-Man suit. There really wasn’t a good explanation for what he was doing. “Well. Nevermind. Gimme a second to get dressed, okay?”

“You know, I’m not a personal hygiene expert, but bathing with clothes on isn’t really a good way to get clea—”

In a series of several slippery spidery movements, Peter pushed him out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.

“Make yourself at home!” Peter called out from behind the door, annoyance dripping off his tone.

Luckily, Deadpool was a master of making himself at home in places he didn’t belong.

Wade pulled off his mask and flung himself onto Peter’s bed. After taking a long whiff of the pillow (maybe too long) he put his hands behind his head and made himself exceedingly comfortable.

First thing he noticed: Peter’s entire apartment came straight from Sweden. Brimnes, Bekant, Örfjäll—good ol’ Ikea. Wade couldn’t blame the guy for having decent taste—all at an affordable price, too. Just as Wade’s thoughts started entering product sponsorship territory, Peter emerged from the bathroom.

Looking at his friend in his current state was difficult. From his five o’clock shadow to the dark circles under his eyes, everything about Pete shouted _ultra-depressed_. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized red hoodie, Peter’s hands were stuffed in his pockets as he shuffled across the wood floor to his bed.

Peter looked down at his friend with half-lidded eyes, eyebrow quirked bemusedly. “Comfy?” he asked, a bit of his usual sarcasm managing to slip into his tone.

“Comfy as can be,” replied Wade, illustrating his point by cuddling up to Peter’s pillow. That earned him a classic eye-roll and smirk combo from his spidery pal.

People coped with loss in different ways. Whether it was a death in the family or a falling out with a friend—everyone had their own way of processing grief. Sure, divorce sucked, but Wade had seen Peter talk people down from suicide. He'd seen him stop _trains_ from crashing into each other. There was a reason he earned the moniker “amazing” Spider-Man; the dude _always_ got back up. He always did the right thing. He _was_ amazing.

So to see him like this? Yeesh, he'd swear it was all a figment of his imagination if Petey wasn’t right in front of him. A silence permeated the room, but only for a split second before Peter broke it with a drawn out groan.

“So, yeah. This is the new place.” Peter gestured his hand towards the center of the room, his completely monotone voice contradicting his grandiose movement.

Casa de Pete accurately represented his best friend’s current state: lots of junk lying around everywhere—would probably clean up nicely later. Wade had a feeling his friend was holding onto a lot of memorabilia from his broken marriage, things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of. Despite the apartment itself having a nice layout, it looked like a yard sale had exploded inside of it. Not the good type of yard sale either; it was like one of those shit yard sales with nothing but clothes and useless junk that wasn’t even worth paying money for.

Peter slumped down on the unoccupied side of the bed. Facing the opposite way as Wade, he laid back and rested his bare feet on the bed’s headboard. Before getting comfortable, Peter reached down to the floor, his hand emerging with a bag of candy. Peter struggled to open the bag, grumbling when it wouldn’t tear. When he noticed that Wade was watching, he cleared his throat with a cough and mumbled, “I swear they like, ugh, surgically seal these things. Oh, _come on!”_

The bag ripped open, candy bursting from it like a sugary firework.

With an apathetic shrug, Peter ate the spilled Reese's Pieces off the bed, his body, and wherever else they went (five-minute rule with the floor candy).  
  
Yikes. Divorce was _not_ treating him well. Wade sat up in the bed and plucked a few pieces of candy off of his friend’s stomach.

“When was the last time you ate, Pete? You know, like, a meal.” Deadpool leaped from the bed and headed to the kitchen on the other side of the room. Without waiting for any sort of permission, he opened Peter’s fridge. It was almost empty, besides a few scattered ketchup packets and a pizza box.

Other than his slight reliance on energy drinks, Peter was a generally healthy eater. At least, Wade had gathered that much from the many times he had attempted to raid Peter’s fridge. Last he could remember, it was stocked up with fruits, veggies, and fresh meat; the guy definitely made an attempt at maintaining a balanced diet. The barren refrigerator was a red flag.

“Uhhh, had some breakfast pizza. Lunch pizza. Dinner pizza.” While recounting his food intake, Peter put out a finger for each meal. “Three meals a day. There ya go. I’m perfectly nourished.”

“Sounds about right.” Wade had an undying love of junk food, but seeing Peter eat so much of it seemed...off.

Sure, it was normal for Wade to eat total crap, but he also had a healing factor that literally kept him from _dying._ So while the whole nutrition thing wasn’t as vital to a guy like him, to Peter it was a little more important. Even Deadpool wouldn’t eat the same thing all day.

“You know how it is. Gotta eat right and fight crime. That’s what Spider-Man does.” Peter stared up at the ceiling and looked at nothing in particular, until his vision was full of a whole lot of Wade Wilson looking down at him. A long time ago, bursting into Peter’s personal bubble like the Kool-Aid man was a big resounding _no_ —but years and years of it had warmed Peter up to the idea. It was a known fact that Wade was just a touchy-feely sort of guy, especially when it came to his best bros.

“About that. I haven’t seen you out in the fray for a while now. I’ve been takin’ care of business while you’ve been gone—no killing! _Mostly._ ” Peter averted his eyes from Wade, a minuscule gesture that made the larger man frown. “Listen, as much as I wanna be the friendly neighborhood Deadpool, New York City isn’t ready for that kind of badassery. They _need_ Spider-Man out there.”

It hit Peter like a smack across the face.

When a person like Wade was constantly cracking jokes and mouthing off, it was rare and fleeting to see him come forth with words of wisdom. Sometimes that wisdom wasn’t the best, but reaffirming that the world needed Spider-Man was about as genuine as it got.

“Spider-Man’s on vacation. I’m training, taking a break so I can come back strong,” he stumbled over his words, shying away from Wade by turning on his side. Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, and as usual, he didn’t want Wade to see.

A solid minute of silence washed over them. Peter breathed in through his nose, and breathed out with a flurry of rushed words. Things he had kept to himself too long. He couldn’t hide forever. 

"Do you think she'll ever love again? Will _I_ ever love again? Weren’t we supposed to be together forever—you know—until death do us part? I’m not dead, _she’s_ not dead, why did this have to happen? Signing the papers made it too real, it’s legally official! It’s done—but maybe if I just talk to her I can make it better. Absence makes the heart grow fond or something like that, right?"

Wade grabbed Peter by the shoulder and turned him around, forcing the babbling man to look at him again.  
  
"Alright, tough questions. I don't think I'm a source of sound advice on this sort of thing. I don't handle breakups well—my way of coping is unaliving a few bad guys then marathoning Kill Bill 1 and 2, maybe Reservoir Dogs if I'm feeling _saucy._ But Tarantino sucks major balls, did you know he almost killed Uma Thurman for a good shot? Was that all worth it for one shitty scene? You know, now that I think of it—" Wade cut himself off and pulled out a small notebook from one of his many belt pouches. With a red crayon, he wrote down the aforementioned director's name on a list that was spanning into the hundreds. Several politicians and country musicians were on the list.  
  
Peter stared at Wade scribbling down the name before letting out a long "Riiiiiiight."  
  
"Listen Petey, I'm gonna cheer you up one way or another. Instead of lamenting over lame ol' MJ—let's look at the bright side of things! You're single, which means you gotta enjoy the single life, pal! Let's get you in the mood. We can get some drinks and—"  
  
"I don't drink."

Wade crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Peter.  
  
"How about the Devil's Lettuce?" Wade was very tempted to refer to it as Mary Jane, but figured that would be in poor taste.  
  
"No, Wade, come on," Peter smirked and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Alright, moving on to bachelor activity numero dos! You can get freaky with _anyone_ you want - and I know a certain someone that's had eyes on you for a while."  
  
Peter sat up and straightened his posture a bit, looking more attentive than before. "You do?"  
  
Wade nodded confidently and threw his arm around Peter with his usual big smile. Slowly, Wade leaned in closer to his ear. "And I got a secret to tell ya. That someone is in this very room."  
  
Alarmed, Peter turned to look at Wade, their faces so close he could feel Wade's breath on his skin. In that split second Pete’s expression morphed from something hopeful to the same apathetic frown as before.

"Wade, if this is some sort of joke or pity thing, it's not very funny.”

Peter looked hurt, betrayed even. Now wasn’t the time for stupid antics, the last thing he needed was for Wade to play with his emotions.  
  
"Well, hey, I'm not a smokin' hot redhead but if you shut your eyes real tight and don't open them I can be a helluva kisser. Just don't look at me if you wanna avoid barfing, cause, you know, I'm kinda like a living scab,” Wade prattled on, completely oblivious to Peter’s hurt.  
  
“Are you listening to what you’re saying?” Peter huffed out a single chuckle in disbelief. "There’s no way you’re serious."  
  
"Have I ever _not_ been serious?"  
  
"First off: not answering that,” Peter said, shaking is head before focusing back on Wade. “Second off: MJ and I. Sure, we’re divorced, but—”

“No buts,” Wade interrupted, “It’s been months. It’s over. Donezo.” It was better to be honest and totally blunt—Pete couldn’t live in the past forever. Moving on wasn’t easy—but it had to start somewhere, right? Was it wrong of Wade to try to get the guy to have a little fun?

“Pete, listen, I really like you, always have, always will, you _know_ that.” Deadpool had never hidden how he felt about Peter, even when he was still married. “Hell, if you would have invited me in on the action with MJ, I probably woulda said yes. But that’s all in the past. What matters now is you’re single, and you’re feeling sad, and I just want to cheer you up. Casual sex, not so casual sex, whatever. Do you wanna fuck or not?”

“Uhhh, I, I don’t really, geez,” Peter laughed nervously and stopped abruptly after giving Wade a quick once over. “This isn’t a pity thing. You’re really into me. Really want to do this. Okay. _Alright._ ”

Peter stood up, bouncing on the heels of his feet anxiously. He breathed out a few puffs of air and laughed again nervously, a crooked smile plastered on his face.

“Okay. Listen. I gotta. We’re gonna. Is that really _real?_ I mean, I’ve already seen you in your underwear before, so there’s that. We can skip that step. But _sex_ , huh?” Peter babbled, carding his hands through his hair and pushing it out of his face as he paced the room.

“If you’re not comfortable, I’m not forcing you, bud. There’s other things we can do. I mean, when I’m down in the dumps I—” before Wade had a chance to answer, Peter pushed him down onto the bed, their lips clashing together fervently.

Kissing Peter was sort of like how he imagined it—maybe with more stubble than expected. They fit together in a way Wade didn’t expect. Their kissing was exciting and new. Butterflies in his stomach and all that jazz. There was a certain desperation to Peter’s kissing, like he needed it more than anything.

Yeah, Peter had to be a bit desperate to say yes to a guy like Wade.

Peter broke the kiss and hovered above Wade, their noses inches apart as they stared into each others eyes.

“That was,” Peter paused, his chest rising and falling. “That was good. This is good. Gotta get over her. By fucking my best friend. Because you want this and _I_ want this and—”

“Geez, Pete, did we switch places? I’m the talkative one, or at least that’s what I thought.” Wade huffed out a half chuckle, “Hey, I know this is leading towards a fucking on the bed sort of scene, but can we take it to the shower?”

“Why the shower?” Peter mused.

“Sexier. Also, you kind of smell. When was the last time you actually bathed?”

Peter turned away from Wade gave his armpit a curious whiff. What followed was his face comically scrunching up and wrinkling with disgust. When he turned back to Wade, he played it off with the most expressionless face he could muster.

“I mean, I was taking a shower when you got here,” he finally replied.

“Right, okay, can’t really get clean in your Spidey suit. Or without _soap_ ,” Wade got up off the bed and started walking to the bathroom. “Besides, shower scenes are hot. It’s the sort of thing people love to get off to.”

One jump-cut transition later Wade found himself being slammed against the bathroom wall. Despite seeming unsure at first, Peter took the lead, pinning the larger man and not showing any signs of loosening his grip. Slender fingers brushed over Wade’s suit—it wasn’t the sort of thing that was easy to slip right out of. They didn’t undress each other, but instead undressed themselves, the two flinging off their clothes like their lives depended on it. Wade stripped down until he was in nothing but his Spider-Man patterned boxer-briefs. Peter met him at the same level of undress.

Boxer-briefs.

There was a shared moment of disbelief. A look into each other’s eyes that said: _we’re really doing this, huh?_

“We’re really, _really_ going to do it?” Peter said.

 _You got it,_ said the look in Wade’s eyes.

Back to kissing, back to saying a thousand words without verbalizing a single thing. It wasn’t clear whose underwear came off first, but by the time they got into the shower and the way-too-hot water was running, they were both hard as hell and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

Years around Spidey meant Wade had been there with him through it all. Saw the gray hairs peek through his mousy brown locks, noticed when his jawline became stronger, the small ticks and marks that added onto him over time. It was pointless and mushy to notice those sort of things—but Wade did.

Maybe he had always been just a _little_ in love with Peter.

Foreplay in the shower started with washing, a strangely sensual, yet domestic act. Peter washed his hair and Wade watched, taking a moment to observe his friend’s naked body. Over the years they had seen each other shirtless, even stripped down to nothing but their underwear, but it was a different ballpark entirely seeing someone in their birthday suit.

Wade couldn’t help but notice the softness building around Pete’s stomach—a slight outlier to his otherwise lithe body. Of course, his eyes got stuck looking (staring) at Peter’s half-hard cock. As soon as he finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, Wade squirted some 3-in-1 body wash into his hand and begun to soap up Peter’s body.

His soap-slick hands rubbed over Peter’s chest, drifting lower and lower, until he rested a hand on Peter’s hip. Unable to contain himself, he gave it a pinch.

“Hey!” Peter slapped Wade’s hand in retort but made no further effort to move it away.

“Sorry, not sorry!” Wade smirked and squirted more body wash into his hands. There was a surprising silence that hung over them as Wade continued to slip his hands over Peter’s body, exploring every inch of him in a way that was meticulous and reverent. Little temptations to tease Pete were too hard to resist—a gentle brush across his nipple, small pinches to major points of interest like his ass, _god_ , his ass.

Pushing himself against Peter, Wade leaned forward and squeezed Peter’s ass, _hard_ . For years, Wade was sure there was no ass that could even _begin_ to compete with Spider-Man’s infamous bubble butt. With another testing, firm squeeze, he noted that Pete’s ass was definitely the _best_ on the _planet_. Wade’s kneading hands elicited a grumble from the other that rested somewhere between annoyance and arousal. That sort of sound was music to his ears, and undisputedly unique to the man he knew and loved.

Wade’s breath hitched as the strain of his swollen cock ever-so-slightly rubbed against Peter. Small gasps and moans were drowned out by the shower, but they didn’t go unnoticed. How long until he lost his fucking mind from waiting? Water poured over Peter’s back, effectively rinsing the suds off of him as he closed the space between their bodies. In one swift movement he grabbed Wade’s hand, bringing it to his cheek. Wade cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand, before Peter led Wade’s fingers to his mouth. It was hard to get Wade flustered, but that did the fucking trick all right.

“Oh, holy fuck,” Wade murmured as Peter sucked on his index finger. He was _not_ expecting that. It felt like his brain was short-circuiting, all Wade was able to do was stand there with a slack-jawed expression and watch Peter run his lips over his hand. Wade watched Peter kiss, lick, and tease him, until all he could think about was how good Peter would look with his cock in his mouth.

Wade pulled his finger out of Peter’s mouth, putting his hand on Peter’s neck and firmly pinning him against the wall. Controlled as ever, Wade made sure not to hurt Peter, but a little bit of roughness didn’t seem to be entirely unwelcome. Judging by the surprised gasp Peter elicited, followed by that cocky smirk of his, he seemed to _like_ being choked.

Peter arched his hips forward, and brushed against Wade’s thigh, growing desperate for a semblance of relief. Bold as ever, Wade firmly grabbed his own cock and started to pump himself slowly with his free hand. Getting the picture, Peter grabbed himself as well and began to jack off.

“Fuck, Pete, you have no clue how good you look right now,” Wade murmured, pumping himself faster, lowering his head as he hissed out a groan through his teeth.

Strangely enough, Peter found himself looking away, trying to hide his expression despite being on display for Wade to see. Maybe it was hard to believe Wade would want him like this. It was a look of admiration—a look that he missed. It was something he didn’t want to fuck up, something he—

“Stop thinking so much,” Wade said before brushing his lips against Peter’s, pulling him in for a kiss that quickly developed into something passionate. Their kiss devolved into all teeth and tongue as they desperately rutted against each other. Suddenly, Wade pulled away, only to lay kisses down Peter’s chest, down his stomach, lower and lower until he was on his knees, his eyes flickering up to look at the other.

Peter attempted to say something, but was cut off by Wade taking the head of his cock in his mouth.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Wade!” Peter finally managed to say, his hands splaying out against the shower wall as Wade deepthroated his dick. Between the dim, warm, overhead shower lighting and the copious amounts of steam, everything about the scene unfolding made Peter’s head swim with arousal. It didn’t take very long until Peter was bucking up into Wade’s mouth, fucking his face as Wade sucked him off.

Peter swore from the way that he was being touched that they had somehow done this before. Wade hit _every_ sweet spot of his, ran his lips over the head of his dick teasingly, went at a pace that was so perfect it felt like they were in sync. Any possible way Peter could be pleased, he _was_ , and Wade somehow made it all look effortless.

Carding a hand through his hair, Peter’s chest heaved as he approached his orgasm.

Both of Peter’s hands shot down to hold Wade’s head before he erratically thrust his hips into Wade’s mouth. By this point a lesser man would choke, but Wade let Peter fuck his face, his hands squeezing onto his thighs for support. Wade attempted to keep his eyes open, but couldn’t help letting them slip shut as he concentrated on sucking Peter’s cock.

“Fuck, Wade, fuck fuck _fuck fuck_ ,” was all he managed to gasp out before coming long and hard in Wade’s mouth. Unable to stop himself from showing off, Wade pulled away from Peter as he came, letting the other cum all over his face. His tongue hung lewdly as Peter shot a definitive pump into his mouth. Wade swallowed it like a champ.

Peter steadied himself against the wall as he attempted to shake himself out of his post-orgasm stupor. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them Wade was standing in front of him with a little bottle of lube.

“Where did you get that?” Peter said in a daze.

“My suit’s got a lot of pouches. One of which has lube. Never know when you’re gonna need it!” Wade squirted an obscene amount in the palm of his hand. Peter looked at him with a lopsided smile.

“And what do you plan on doing now?”

“Whatever you want me to do, baby boy.” Wade’s eyes darkened as he grabbed his erection and stroked himself. “You gotta ask for it, though.”

“Uh, please?” Peter bit his lower lip and watched Wade pump his own cock. Jesus christ, Peter felt himself getting hard again.

“Eyes up here,” Wade commanded. Peter immediately looked up, locking eyes with Wade’s intense gaze. “Please _what?_ ”

“Please, fuck me,” Peter whispered, sounding surprisingly serious. He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach did so many flips or the last time anyone had made him so excited.

“Turn around,” demanded Wade. Peter obeyed.

His heart was pounding in his ears by this point, nervousness making him shakey. Peter hadn’t done anything like this since, well, college? Before dating MJ. He had dabbled in this sort of thing once or twice before, but never like this. But he trusted Wade, god, he trusted Wade so much and knew that the other wouldn’t hurt him. Resting his hands against the tile wall, he shivered as his chest pressed against it. His nipples became sensitive from the sensation of the cold tile wall.

A tentative slicked up finger pushed against Peter’s entrance. Wade teased his asshole, prodding at it until his muscles relaxed. Wade’s lips brushed against Peter’s ear as he carefully pushed his finger in.

“Just let me know if I’m too rough. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay,” was the last thing Peter said before everything melded together into a blur.

It was incredible how Wade could be so careful yet rough, rough in a way that satisfied Peter but didn’t _hurt_ him. Contradictions seemed to be the main theme of Wade’s personality: one second he was joking around and not making any sense, the next he was serious and full of some kind of fucked up wisdom that Peter didn’t even know existed. Twenty years, _twenty_ years of knowing each other and Wade still kept him on his toes, still surprised him, and maybe—just maybe—he was starting to feel ridiculous for not seeing these aspects of Wade’s personality sooner.

It was easy to feel young around Wade—to forget his divorce, to forget his depression, to forget his loneliness—because when he was around Wade none of those things mattered. Someone loved him unconditionally—to a _fault,_ actually—and it drove him wild to think he was wanted like that _._ Like, seriously, _Peter_ of all people?

By the time Wade had three fingers inside of him, Peter was totally erect again, his dick throbbing so hard it hurt. Peter’s hand instinctively shot to his groin and he jerked himself off slowly as Wade finger fucked him. It felt like his legs would give out from how shaky he was, how _good_ it all felt. In that moment, there was nothing Peter B. Parker wanted more in his life than for Wade Wilson’s cock to be inside of him. The sensation of being finger fucked while hot water ran down his back was driving him crazy, his heart pounded so hard he could feel it pulse in his temples.

As Wade moved faster, he squeezed his own cock harder, his pumping becoming more erratic.

“Woah there, buddy. Impatient much?”

“You’re one to talk,” retorted Peter, his usual quip confidence coming out a lot more breathy than he had planned.

“You know, you look like this in my fantasies too,” Wade chuckled, his voice sounding more breathy that usual. “Is it messed up if I tell you I’ve wanted this for a while? I mean, I just kept it to myself cause you were married. I wasn’t going to ruin something good you had going, but, now? I don’t know, maybe things are different.”

“Wade, I really want to talk about my feelings but I need you to fuck me first. This is _not_ the time to be serious!”

“Okay, but after I raw you we’re going to have a _crazy good_ feelings jam!”

At first, Wade pushed in slow, giving Peter some time to get used to his dick, and boy did Peter _need_ it. Bluntly, Wade was huge, and Peter wasn’t exactly acclimated to anal. They shared a moment of quivering breaths as Wade stretched him open. Peter started controlling his breath through his nose as he got used to someone being inside of him. Wade was surprisingly patient; he had made it clear he didn’t want to hurt Peter. When Wade started moving slowly, Peter took time to center himself, supporting his body on the wall as Wade moved.

That was how it started, a slow and careful movement, the softness of it nearly driving Peter to tears for more reasons than one. It was a moment of silence that spoke louder than Peter expected—he wasn’t expecting Wade to be so gentle, so—fuck— _loving_. Peter was aware that Wade loved him for years, but Peter had lied to himself and was convinced that it was some sort of intense platonic—a bromance (Wade’s phrasing—not his). Now, as Wade fucked him gently, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt and how there was absolutely nothing platonic about it.

“You good, Petey?” Wade whispered, giving Peter’s hips a little squeeze.

“Never been better,” he rasped.

It didn’t take long at all until Peter was begging Wade to move faster, because _lord,_ he just wanted to get fucked so bad, wanted it hard and fast and _now._ His wet hair was plastered to his face as Wade rutted into him, hips slapping wetly against Peter’s ass. Getting the idea that he liked it rough, Wade pulled Peter’s hair as he slammed into him, groaning with each thrust. The first time Wade hit his prostate, Peter almost screamed.

“There, right there, _right there!_ ” he cried. Then, as if Wade had taken note of it, every thrust from that point forward brushed against his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Wade grumbled, suddenly becoming more erratic, “I’m gonna cum, Pete,” he huffed, his fingernails digging into Peter’s sides.  
  
“Please, please, _please,_ ” was all Peter could say in response. Wade’s thrusting became erratic as he got closer to coming. In the heat of the moment, Wade buried his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, laying rough kisses on him before biting down. Leaving red bruises and hickies along his neck, Wade unloaded inside of Peter, a choked out cry emerging from the larger man as he came. Even after coming he continued to move, slow but rough as he slammed against Peter with a final few definitive thrusts. Shortly after, Peter finished himself off for a second time. Reaching for the faucet, Peter missed it a few times before shutting off the shower.

By this point, the bathroom was so humid Peter felt like he was suffocating. Wade hopped out of the shower first, strolling over to the foggy bathroom mirror to draw a crude Deadpool with a huge dick and balls and a Spider-Man to match. Compared to Peter, Wade seemed a lot less tired. Peter, on the other hand, felt like sleeping for the next thirteen hours.

They dried off, stealing lazy kisses and touches from each other as they did so. After leaving the bathroom, Peter headed straight for the bed and plopped onto it face first. Wade followed, slapping Peter’s ass before plopping himself down on the bed, laying on his side.

“Hey, Petey,”

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice muffled from the mattress.

“You feeling any better?”

There was a pause from Peter, before he turned his head to the side to look at Wade.

“You know what? I am. I mean, I’ll probably walk with a limp for a few days, but it was _worth it._ ”

“Well, good. I should get going,” Wade sat up with a smile, but before he could stand up Peter grabbed his arm.

“Why don’t you—um,” Peter paused to collect his thoughts. After a second, he smiled and said, “Why don’t you stay the night? We can pull an all-nighter and watch movies or something. You know, like we used to.”

Did he sound pathetic? Desperate? Peter had felt lonely for so long, longer than he wanted to admit. But for the first time in forever, he felt less alone. For all the times Wade annoyed him he was also genuine, so painfully genuine that it made Peter’s heart skip nervously. There were no walls to break down, there was nothing to hide with Wade. Wade had always been vulnerable and open—it was Peter’s turn to return the favor.

“If you want to. You don’t have to, I just figured you’d want to, like, maybe stay.” So much for not sounding too desperate.

“Sounds good, bud,” Wade replied without skipping a beat.

“Hey, Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big shoutout to tim & mary for editing this!
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andouilles)


	2. and they were roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extremely extended sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha waddup this fic is multichapter now.
> 
> updates on saturdays.

Life had a sick sense of humor. Whatever vengeful god controlled his fate decided Wade was meant to be in the big picture. All Peter could do was laugh.

One day he was minding his own business and next thing he knew, some wise-cracking asshole with an arsenal of lethal weapons popped into his life and stuck around for the next twenty years.

And _now_ , he was fucking him.

Peter never planned on having sex with Wade. The idea wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, after all, he had just gotten a _divorce_ with MJ. Granted, the divorce was two months ago and he was settled into his new place, but it wasn’t right to bounce back so quickly—was it? Shouldn’t he have been single longer? Given himself some time to think?

His failed marriage was his fault, there was no doubt about that. It failed for a couple of reasons, one being that Peter was scared of the danger he could potentially put Mary Jane in. The last thing Peter wanted to do was see her get hurt, and the idea of having kids was totally out of the picture _because_ of that same fear. Fear really ran Peter’s life, didn’t it? Fear of losing someone, fear of failure; it was a fundamental flaw of his personality—he was always prepared for the worst, and honestly _expected_ the worst.

Whoever fell in love with him would deal with these serious flaws; the flaws that fucked up his marriage, that kept him up for sleepless night after sleepless night.

Luckily, one of the most flawed people in the world loved him.

Wade Wilson loved him. That was a fact. It had been a fact for over twenty years. Upon first impression, Peter hadn’t known what to think of the guy, but was intrigued by him nonetheless. There was a bit of a bumpy start between the two—Peter was annoyed by him, mainly due to the fact that Spider-Man didn’t appreciate the guy decapitating all of New York’s baddies. But, with time, Peter warmed up to Deadpool. The warming up happened after they established a no-killing rule for the merc. Well, _almost_ no killing.

They had the same sort of sense of humor—nonstop quipping. Hell, they even had similar costumes. They both appreciated a good hot dog or ice cream cone. Chemistry was the right word for it. They had _chemistry._

From day one Wade had flirted with Peter, which he assumed was just part of his personality. But after years of knowing the guy? He would be stupid not to know Wade loved him when Wade had been telling him at least once a week for years.

There was nothing weird about knowing Wade was in love with him, they had talked about it in the past. Wade had never expected him to reciprocate. Peter had never expected Wade to stop feeling what he felt. Sure, Wade would tease him sometimes, tell some jokes or call him sickly sweet pet names, but he never crossed the line. Peter was a married man, and a _dedicated_ one at that. He loved Mary Jane. Wade knew that and respected that. For all the headaches Deadpool caused him, he was respectful where it mattered most.

They had a bond, a bond that was forged over years of working together, fighting, and trying to make New York a little safer. Maybe making the world a better place hadn’t always been Deadpool’s goal, but over time they started to make compromises. Peter had been strict when it came to killing—but only if they were working together. While Deadpool was on a solo job, Peter didn’t expect him to be all that merciful, especially when the guy was getting paid to kill. Over the years, Peter had even learned to accept that death was sometimes...a necessary evil.

At the end of the day, Wade wanted to make Peter happy, and Peter knew that. If that meant holding back a little and lowering the fatality count—he was happy to oblige. Peter only hoped he could make Wade happy too.

_You can stay as long as you like._

Peter remembered that moment so clearly. Never in a million years did he think he would hook up with Wade. Not because he didn’t think Wade was attractive, no, quite the opposite actually. He had _always_ thought Wade was attractive, even back when he was married. Back then it was a sort of admiration, nothing he had thought about acting on. Now, his thoughts were starting to drift in a different direction.

After sleeping with Wade, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the guy. For one: Wade was surprisingly good at being considerate when it came to sex. Despite being a total haphazard wreck out on the field, behind closed doors he was attentive, almost emotionally hyper-aware. Secondly, Wade fucked him _good._ That was that. Peter hadn’t had sex like that since he was in his mid-twenties at least, although it could have just been the excitement of someone new.

Well, _not_ someone new. Someone he had known for a really long time that he was seeing a new _side_ of.

After knowing Wade for so long, Peter always thought they would run out of things to say, things to learn about each other—but they never did. Even though their new closeness was welcomed, there was still an elephant in the room. They fucked, and they were friends, which made them friends with benefits, probably? But Wade loved him, and Peter knew that. So what did that make them? Peter liked him, or at least he felt like he did. He needed more time to mull it over, figure out what the solution was. There was always some sort of solution—a _correct_ answer.

Sometimes, Peter would overthink himself into an endless loop. He had to come back to the moment. He was in his bed. He was with Wade. Wade was staying the night. Wade was right next to him.

Peter wrapped his arms around Wade and nuzzled into his shoulder, effectively becoming the big spoon, despite being significantly smaller than him. Crickets chirped outside, filling the apartment with white noise. Maybe there was something he should have said, some sort of words that would mean something. It felt like he needed to say something, _anything._

Sleep pulled Peter in faster than expected, and for the first time in two months, he slept peacefully.

* * *

Sunlight peeked in through the blinds and bathed the bed with hazy light. Dust particles were illuminated by the rays of the early morning sun. Eyes opening slowly, Peter squinted at the blurry person sleeping next to him. Tenderly, he reached forward and touched Wade’s cheek. Wade’s eyes cracked open, but Peter had a feeling he hadn’t been sleeping to begin with. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at Wade, the two of them laying together in sleepy silence.

“Good morning,” said Peter, his voice still groggy as he shook off the dregs of sleep.

“G’morning, sunshine,” Wade said back, cracking an irresistible smile.

It was so natural when Wade reached out and brushed a hand against his cheek, trailing a finger down his jawline. Tenderness, so scrupulous and gentle, as if Peter could be broken. Peter shut his eyes and held his breath, wondering if he was really still sleeping and hadn’t woken up yet.

When he woke up he would be alone. Alone in an apartment that was barely unpacked, alone in a place that wasn’t his home. But Peter opened his eyes, and when he saw Wade he felt like he belonged.

“You know, one-night stands aren’t usually this intimate,” Peter started, hating himself for breaking the mood. “I sorta expected you to be gone by now.”

“You said I can stay as long as I like, right?” Wade answered. “So, that’s what I’m gonna do. Unless you changed your mind?” His brows furrowed in worry.

“No! Definitely not!” Peter grabbed his arm instinctively, “You can. You can definitely, _totally_ stay.”

Peter shifted closer to Wade, until he was close enough to brush his lips against him, carefully, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay or not. Gently moving to kiss Wade’s neck, he then pressed kisses over his adam’s apple and the other side of his neck. Wade turned his head and mumbled sleepily, but approving nonetheless.

What they had done last night—shouldn’t it have been a one night stand? Peter’s heart pattered at the notion of it being something more, anxiety flipping around and gnawing at his stomach. Vulnerable as ever—Peter feared that he was getting too attached. Like Wade would leave; he _could_ leave any moment.

But he didn’t.

Wade stayed the night. Again, and again, and _again_. Not once did either of them bring it up. Wade could stay as long as he liked, so he did. Peter wanted him to stay, so he did.

When they spent time together, it felt like he was married all over again. The moments they shared were special, even if it was something as mundane as brushing their teeth together. Every night was movie night, and pillow fights were _not_ out of the question. Peter was having the most fun he had had in almost a year. On the fifth day Wade was over, Peter finally mustered up the energy and determination to commit to cleaning up his apartment, with Wade helping along the way.

Everything felt simple, but simple in the best way possible. Being Spider-Man meant things were _never_ simple, but around Wade he felt like they could be. It was fun to pretend he could have a normal life without the weight of the world on his shoulders. No more great power or responsibility—just for a _little._

As Peter lugged items and boxes from across one side of the studio apartment to the other, he and Wade would cross paths, brush against each other, Wade’s wandering hands occasionally pinching his butt, pulling him in for a kiss, as if he couldn’t get enough.

Eventually, Peter dropped the boxes all together and crashed into Wade like a tidal wave, welcoming the distraction as they fell back onto the couch and made out like their lives depended on it.

It was impossible to stop thinking about how good it felt to kiss Wade. As they deepened their kissing, it was charged with pure want, no, the same _desperateness_ that he felt just a few nights ago. All Peter could think of was how much he wanted Wade to stay, to _keep_ staying. When they kissed, it was a spark that rapidly grew into a thunderstorm Peter was thrilled to chase.

After a week of Wade living with him, Peter could barely stand the idea of him leaving.

* * *

 On a sleepy Sunday morning, Peter’s eyes cracked open around noon. Wade wasn’t next to him. Almost immediately Peter’s heart started pounding wildly, the hurt of Wade leaving without saying goodbye hitting him hard. The feeling of hurt was so visceral, so intense. What was he going to do? No, he couldn’t feel so codependent after just a week. He would be fine, totally fine, okay, _no he wouldn’t,_ he was freaking out. Wade wasn’t there. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wade was on the other side of the apartment, making breakfast.

After one big sigh of relief—and lots of internal screaming—Peter got out of bed and stretched, his back cracking in about ten different places before shuffling over to the kitchen. Wordlessly, he hugged Wade from behind, slinking his arms around his waist and burying his face in his back.

“Good morning, sweetums,” Wade singsonged. Every time Wade used a pet-name for him Peter’s heart still leapt. “You know, you didn’t have to get up. I was gonna do a whole breakfast in bed thing for you, but then I was gonna squirt some of the Reddi-wip on my abs and be like, _guess what’s for dessert—_ _me!_ And then we make passionate, steamy love, or just go back to sleep. Take your pick.”

“Put a pin in the Reddi-wip thing—I wanted to talk about something. Something important.” Peter shuffled over to Wade’s side, looking up at him with anticipation.

“Sure, I’m all ears, Petey. But if you want to come back to the best prequel movie argument—I’m still going to say it’s Episode III, purely because Hayden Christensen is a total Canadian dreamboat.”

Peter could think of a few Canadian dreamboats.

“No, uh, it’s not about Star Wars,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly and looking away from Wade, “It’s just, you’ve been here for a week now. And I know I said you could stay as long as you like, but, when are you leaving?”

“Do you want me to go?”

It was the second time Peter had asked about when Wade would leave, and Wade always seemed to have the same answer. Wade was willing to do whatever Peter wanted—stay, go,  _anything._

“No, that’s not what I meant, shit, I,” Peter groaned and shook his head, suddenly looking a lot more panicked, “I don’t want you to go. But I know you have to. Eventually.”

“Do I?”

There was no real reason for Wade to leave—was there? Didn’t Wade have an apartment of his own? No, Wade had a life of his own. Wade had work to do, work that, well, he could have really done it anywhere. It wouldn’t have surprised Peter if Wade had a lot of savings to live off of, after all, merc work paid and it paid _well._ Was there any reason for him to go?

Peter realized that he had been quiet for a while, lost in his own head again.

“Well, no, I just _assumed_. You know, you gotta go sometime, right?” Peter said, suddenly sounding not so sure of himself.

“But if you don’t want me to go, and I definitely in a _million_ years don’t wanna go, then, there’s no reason for me to go.”

Leave it to Wade to state the obvious facts that Peter was too stupid to realize. Peter ran his hands down his face and groaned. For someone that was so smart (and a _scientist_ , for fuck’s sake) Peter really made a habit of not noticing what was right in front of him.

“Right,” Peter said, rubbing a hand over his chin thoughtfully, “Right. So. Don’t go. Good. Do you live here now?”

“Guess so!” Wade started to plate their breakfasts. “Now, I’ve got a question for you, Pete.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“We’re a _thing_ , right? A week ago it seemed like we were pulling the whole friends with benefits deal, which is muy bueno and all, but can we kick it to the next level? Break out the B word?”

“...Breakfast?” Peter pointed to their plates pathetically. He fake-coughed away his bad joke.

“No. Good try. I was thinking more like _boyfriends._ If we live together, and spend every moment together, and look lovingly into each others eyes, then we’re an item—right? Cause you already know I like you, and I know I like you. Like, _like-like_ you. That’s a lot of likes. Like, like, like,” Wade prattled on, as usual.

“But what about _you?_ I don’t really know what’s going on in your head sometimes, do you like me? I mean, _me_? Of all people? Is this the world’s craziest rebound or what?”

Peter put his hand on Wade’s shoulder. There was something about Wade’s self-deprecation that made his heart sink. Didn’t Wade know how important he was?

“No, hell no, _not_ a rebound. I like you. Like-like you,” Peter said. “I don’t know the specifics yet, but I know I want to be around you. And I like the idea of being a thing, you know, _dating_. Peter B. Parker and Wade Wilson dating. Sounds about right.”

“It’s settled then. Breakfast is done, here ya go,” Wade handed him a plate of pancakes, topped with whipped cream and blueberries. “Episode III is the best prequel and we’re totes boyfriends now. End scene.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up cause the next chapter is mega horny.
> 
> comments mean EVERYTHING to me - please lemme know what you think!
> 
> thank you tim & mary for editing!
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andouilles)


	3. laundry day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's horny!!!

Depression made life difficult in a lot of ways.

It felt like he shouldn’t have been depressed anymore. He had Wade—had a new place that he could confidently call home. There was no reason to sleep as much as he did, to feel as apathetic as he did, to feel as _useless_ as he did. All his reasoning and logic didn’t matter or make it go away, no matter how much he wished it would.

Wade helped him in the small ways that made monumental differences.

First, Wade had helped with the unpacking, which was a monster too large to tackle alone. Peter had a lot of junk he didn’t need. Unpacking was only half of the equation—they had to sort the junk from the not-junk as well. It was a long and perilous journey, but after a whole day (with minimal distractions) they had done it.

The next thing to tackle was the piles of laundry. The two found themselves face to face with a mountain of both of their clothes, which had accumulated over the last month. Wade had slowly started moving his belongings into Peter’s apartment—meaning there was twice the amount of dirty underwear to deal with. It was like every time Peter woke up, a new artifact of Wade’s appeared.

Waking up to a cardboard cutout of Ryan Gosling smiling down at him had turned out to be the most effective alarm clock in the world.

Laundry-geddon was less apocalyptic than expected. It was, however, extremely _boring_.

Wade squatted on one of the many famously uncomfortable laundromat chairs, holding a Nintendo DS way too close to his face. As usual, Wade was wearing a hoodie with the hood up, black baseball cap peeking out from under it. Whenever they went out in public, Wade always found a way to conceal his face, still conscious of the heavy scarring all over his skin. It had never bothered Peter much, and he knew for a _fact_ New York City didn’t care (and had probably seen much worse) but he understood Wade’s mindset. Lately, Peter was pretty self-conscious about his own look, too.

While Wade was able to happily hyperfocus on his video game, Peter was stuck in a restless rut. He shifted from sitting in front of the washing machine crossed-legged, watching their clothes tumble, to pacing around the laundromat as he, like usual, got lost in his thoughts.

When it came time to throw load two out of ten into the wash, Peter’s pulse quickened as he noticed his Spider-Man suit was caught in the mix. How long had it been since he wore it out in the field? How long had it been since he had gotten out there and saved the city, or at the very least, _helped_ someone? Before he realized it, Peter had a vice grip on the suit. After throwing the costume—and the rest of his dirty laundry—into the washing machine, he dropped down to the floor and started to stretch.

“Limbering up for round three of laundry? I shoulda known you’d see the bricks I snuck in there,” said Wade, peeking out from behind his Nintendo DS. Peter was touching his toes, face scrunched up with discomfort.

“Just stretching,” Peter murmured, focused on the task at hand. “Haven’t done this in a while. A _long_ while. Ugh!” Peter fell back and laid on the laundromat floor. At least he could still touch his toes, but Spider-Man had to be a lot more flexible than that. Without giving himself much time to rest, Peter started to do push-ups, which also gave him a little bit more trouble than he remembered.

“What’s up with the sudden fitness obsession? If you keep this up you’re gonna lose your sexy dad-bod,” Wade said, half-paying attention to Peter, distracted by his game.

“That’s the point,” Peter grumbled in-between push-ups, “I think it’s time to, you know, get back on the streets. You and I. Just like how we used to.”

“Yeah, I sure do miss working those streets. Although, it’s hard getting business with this ugly mug,” Wade smiled and Peter shot him a deadly side-eye. “Oh, you mean the _other_ type of street work. The shooty-stabby kind?”

Once again, Peter gave Wade a glare that could kill.

“Don’t give me _that_ look! No stabbing vital organs, I get it, rubber bullets. I know the drill. Man, we should really make our _safe word_ rubber bullets,” Wade said, trying to choke down laughter.

After finishing up his push-ups—and rolling his eyes at Wade—Peter stretched again. There was an urge to keep moving that he just couldn’t ignore. Wade closed his Nintendo DS and got down on the floor with Peter. Without saying another word, he held onto Peter’s ankles. A look of surprise crossed Peter’s face.

“Well? Come on, do some crunches,” Wade said. “You think you got fifty of them in you?”

That was the thing about Wade: he always managed to be supportive. It didn’t matter what it was—he was there for Peter.

“You know I can make it to at least a hundred.” Peter smirked.

“Alright then, pretty boy. Gimme me one-hundo.”

As they sifted through their laundry pile, in between loads the two would do little exercises. Push-ups, crunches, jumping jacks—anything to get them moving. Wade barely broke a sweat, but went along with Peter and encouraged him, pushed him to keep going. By the time they were done with laundry, Peter found himself twisting his body to crack his back, a habit of his that had developed in his older age. He heaved a bag of clean laundry over his shoulder, Wade taking two larger bags as they left the laundromat.

Pink and purple hues streaked the sky, the sun starting to set as the two began to walk back to their shared apartment.

“Man, I’m really going to miss that tummy of yours, Petes. It’s so soft!” Wade sighed. “Like a Peter pillow just waiting for me whenever I need it.”

“Well, appreciate it while it still lasts. I’m on my way back to rock-hard abs,” Peter replied.

“Anything else of yours gonna be rock-hard?” As usual, Wade couldn’t help himself when it came to a good ol’ fashioned innuendo.

“ _Wade,_ ” Peter warned, although he couldn’t hide the smile from his voice.

* * *

They had adopted a new morning routine: a jog around the neighborhood. Wade would make breakfast, albeit a healthier one than the usual pancakes with an ungodly amount of syrup and whipped cream. They would go on a jog around the block, although it occasionally turned into Wade smacking Peter’s ass and Peter chasing him to seek ass-smacking revenge. At least it was a good way to sneak some sprinting into the mix.

Having a daily workout routine was doing Peter some good, in fact, it was doing him _a lot_ of good. Not only was he getting fit again, but Wade was there every step of the way. After a week and a half of training, Peter felt like he was really getting back on his feet. His confidence was higher than it had been in a while. It felt like he was his old self again, and realizing that made him excited. Maybe it wasn’t too late to be Spider-Man again.

Maybe he could still help people, just like he used to.

It wasn’t clear whose idea it was first, but around one A.M. on a Tuesday, Peter and Wade had decided to spar in a nearby park. Last time they had attempted to fight in the apartment. It led to one expensive IKEA trip, so they had agreed to take all future practice matches outside.

Thankfully, the park was abandoned. It consisted of a walking path with some benches scattered about, and then a small clearing that was semi-shrouded by trees. They didn’t have total coverage, but they had more than enough for two guys fighting in the dead of night.

Peter was in a navy pull-over sweatshirt and his infamous gray sweatpants, while Wade had on a black t-shirt with black pants. A soft breeze blew through the late-summer air, fireflies dancing about for what may have been the last time that year. It was getting colder at night, but the humidity of summer was still holding on.

The two stood about fifty feet away from each other.

Peter stretched, twisting himself from side to side then cracking his knuckles as he shouted across the clearing to Wade. “You’re going down, Wilson!”

Wade rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Come at me, old man!”

Both of them had shit-eating grins. No weapons, no gear—just the two of them fighting with classic hand-to-hand combat.

With adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, Peter made the first move, sprinting at Wade and throwing a punch with his entire body. It didn’t connect, and when Wade turned to counter, Peter dodged with a flip out of the way. Acrobatics were second nature to Peter—which he was thankful for—because breaking his back could be a major mood killer.

Peter tried to hit Wade, and again, he sidestepped out of the way.

They went at it like that for a while—throw a hit, dodge, hit, dodge. Wade fought with his whole body, trying to lay on heavy punches and kicks. But Peter was far more agile, nimble, and he flipped and contorted his body around Wade. Fighting Wade was exhilarating, for the simple fact that Peter knew he wouldn’t hold back. His fighting style was aggressive; he was a man that was built to _kill._ To be honest, there was no better person to train with.

“Man, you’ve still got it, Peter,” Wade huffed. “But you’re _distracted_.”

Before he had a chance to figure out what had happened, Peter found himself pinned to the ground, his face pressed against the grass, his arms restrained behind him. Wade pressed against his back, his breath on his neck.

“The thing is, baby boy, you might be good, but I’m _always_ gonna be better.” Wade’s voice rumbled in his ear and elicited a shiver from Peter. “It’s nothing personal. Try again next time.”

It was hard to control his breathing, and at this point Peter was panting from the fight, but also, from the weight of Wade. The heat between them was palpable, Wade’s hips grinding down on his ass. Peter attempted to wiggle free, but that only made the hardness against him worse. Now wasn’t the time to get turned on, not _yet_ at least. He hadn’t even lasted that long!

“Fine, I give up,” Peter sighed. The moment he felt Wade’s grip loosen on his wrists, Peter broke free, twisted around, and delivered a kick straight to Wade’s gut. It knocked him back, and now Peter pinned down Wade, straddling him as he held the other’s wrists to the ground. Just to add insult to injury, Peter rolled his hips against Wade’s, feeling the hardness growing in his pants. Peter couldn’t help but to grin—the look on Wade’s face was priceless.

“Nothing _personal_ , Wade,” Peter cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Maybe I’m not the only one getting distracted.”

“I see how it’s gonna be!” Wade had a wild look in his eyes, “We’re fighting dirty now, huh?”

Wade trailed his hands down to grab Peter by the waist, and suddenly threw Peter off of him. Peter went flying, but rolled and stuck a landing. He turned around in his crouched position and Wade was already running towards him. With no time to get up, Peter had to think _fast._ In one swift movement, he swept out his leg, attempting to trip Wade. Peter was successful, but on the way down, Wade grabbed him.

Again, Wade was holding Peter down. The two stared at each other, their chests heaving from the fight. Peter didn’t have to ask for Wade to start choking him, it was sort of the natural progression of things. As soon as Wade’s hands closed in around his throat, Peter’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. They were done fighting—it was time to move onto something else entirely.

It was all a game, a game they had played so many times before. Wade rolled his hips against Peter’s, the pressure building up as the restriction around his neck tightened. There wasn’t any _real_ danger—but his body thought there was. Being Spider-Man meant a lot of adrenaline highs, which over many years Peter had become a bit reliant on. His head pounded hazily, his senses heightening from the rush that was already starting to consume him. The feeling practically made him shiver, a surge of energy washing over him.

When Wade started to palm himself roughly through his pants, Peter’s eyes went wide with horror.

“Jesus christ, fuck, Wade,” he croaked. Wade released his grip as Peter tried to choke out a full sentence.

“You and me, we’re in _public_ , you can’t just, I mean, you _could_ ,” Peter babbled, his face heating up so hot he could have sworn he was a teenager again. “Can we at least get some _coverage_ before you whip it out?” The risk factor of having any sort of sex in public was still totally _hot,_ and really not doing anything for the adrenaline rush he was riding. Peter’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

“Nobody’s around. We’ll make it a quicky,” Wade tried to reason.

“We live in New York City. Someone’s _always_ around,” Peter retorted.

“Touché. Plan B, then?” Wade pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the park’s public bathroom.

Peter picked the lock, and as soon as the door was open Wade slammed Peter against the wall. Wade groaned and bit Peter’s lower lip—he was controlling his roughness. Peter may have been a lot smaller than Wade, but he wouldn’t _break_. Suddenly, the kiss was wet, deep, and completely filthy _._ They fit together perfectly, and it didn’t matter that they were in some dirty public bathroom, or that they were sweaty as hell from their fight. Peter wanted Wade—Wade wanted Peter—that was all that mattered.

“You know, after tonight, I think I’m really ready to get out there again,” Peter said, casually, as he lowered himself until he was eye-level with Wade’s crotch. With a devilish look, Peter freed Wade’s clothed dick. He held the base of Wade’s swollen cock and ran his tongue over it teasingly. Wade groaned and immediately laced his fingers through Peter’s hair, tugging gently.

“I’d say you’re ready to go, but it looks like you’re more interested in sucking my dick. You sure you’re gonna be able to stay focused?”

“I’ll stay focused if ya don’t tease me too often, big boy.” Peter popped the head of Wade’s dick into his mouth.

“Can’t make any promises there, Pete,” Wade replied, his voice trembling slightly.

Wade’s dick was huge, there wasn’t any denying that. The thing that really drove Peter wild was how _thick_ it was. At first, it had been a challenge to take the whole thing in his mouth, but now it was practically second nature. It was so slutty how used to Wade’s dick he had become, how much he felt like he needed it, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Maybe Wade would be a real distraction to him out there, maybe it _would_ be a problem, but he wouldn’t know until he tried. Of course they had fought side-by-side before, but back then they weren’t fucking. They weren’t _boyfriends_. Snapped back into the moment by a rough thrust from Wade, Peter looked up at him, his attention completely directed on him.

“Permission to facefuck, sir?” Wade asked.

Peter nodded compliantly, and then Wade absolutely went to town.

The way Wade fucked was just like how Peter liked it; rough, fast, and _hard_. Despite all his newly-acquired deepthroating skills, he still choked and sputtered as Wade pounded his cock into his throat. Drool pooled at the corners of Peter’s lips, but he didn’t care. Peter grabbed Wade’s thigh, squeezing it as the other’s thrusts became more and more erratic.

“Fuck, Pete, I’m, I’m gonna cum,” Wade rasped, tugging on Peter’s hair with a rough pull. Peter pulled back a bit and opened his mouth as Wade shot his load into it. Wade tugged his cock and milked a few last spurts of cum, Peter holding out his tongue and waiting for him to finish. Before pulling away, Wade wiped the leaking head of his dick across Peter’s lips.

“Man, you look good like that,” Wade admired, “Ten outta ten, seriously.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ve been _practicing_ ,” Peter got up, his knees cracking like Rice Krispies as he did. Despite his loud joints, he was feeling the best he had in a long time. “Let’s head back home. This bathroom reeks.”

“True that. Wanna make a late-night 7-Eleven run first? I’ll get you a blue raspberry Slurpee and a bag of Doritos, my treat.” Wade stuffed his dick back in his pants and zipped it up, doing a little bit of a shuffle as he adjusted himself.

“Oh, I see how it is. You get your dick sucked and now you’re paying me in snacks?” Peter crossed his arms and tried to look pissed. He failed miserably.

“You’re right. You’re worth _way_ more than that, Petey,” Wade opened the door for Peter and smacked his ass on the way out of the bathroom. “I should throw a Slim Jim in the mix too.”

“I’m _swooning._ ” Peter rolled his eyes and put an arm around Wade’s waist.

Like an idiot, Peter grinned goofily, unable to contain his happiness. It was stupid how fast and hard he had fallen for Wade and how he couldn’t imagine his life without him. Sure, it was dramatic, but even if they had only remained friends Peter _still_ couldn’t imagine a Wade-less life.

Being in love made him feel younger, made him feel like he had some sort of purpose. Wade didn’t need to be protected, but Peter still _wanted_ to keep him safe. Wanted to keep all of New York safe—maybe as an attempt to preserve his new life. Years and years of being Spider-Man had worn him down, but now, Peter had a second wind. It felt like he could handle anything, especially with Wade at his side.

Whatever came next—he was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you tim & mary for being my beta bitches.
> 
> next chapter update might take two weeks or so? work's been busy lately! 
> 
> please leave me a comment and lemme know what you think, i live for validation
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andouilles)


	4. new person, same old mistakes

Another sleepless night.

It wasn’t like Peter was doing it on purpose, he _usually_ had trouble getting to bed. An overactive mind like his never shut off— _ever_. While Peter tossed and turned and tried to lull himself to sleep, Wade snoozed peacefully—totally knocked out, as always.

Tomorrow was the day Peter would go back to being Spider-Man, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sure, he was nervous, but mostly excited. Just the thought of being able to get back out there and do his _job_ made his heart race. How long had it been since he had helped someone, _anyone?_ Peter was tired, and had been through a lot of shit over the years, but he still wanted to do the right thing.

He was still Spider-Man.

At some point, Peter had fallen, had let himself fester in a dark place. With Wade’s help and his own determination, he had snapped the hell out of it. Or, at least, he _thought_ he had. The fear of disappointing others loomed over him like a dark cloud. There were a lot of people he could potentially let down; even without the entirety of New York City breathing down his neck, he still felt the need to do _something_.

Being a superhero for over twenty years had shaped his personality. If he wasn’t saving the world—he was a waste of space. At times, it felt like there was no Peter B. Parker left—there was just Spider-Man. Reentering the public eye was going to be a big deal since nobody had seen Spider-Man for a _while_. No matter what he did upon returning, he knew he would face some form of media criticism. Peter couldn’t wait for the Daily Bugle to churn out some tabloid-esque story about Spider-Man.

Thank God nobody read newspapers anymore.

Peter glanced over at Wade, who was still fast asleep. They _had_ planned to go out on patrol together, but Peter was certain Wade would catch up with him if he decided to get a head start. Peter may have been coming back from a break, but he could take care of himself without Wade. Getting to sleep anytime soon wasn’t in the cards—not with how restless he was. Wouldn’t be the first or _last_ all-nighter Peter pulled.

Peter stood up and paced the room, his feet shuffling silently across the floors. He felt like he had drank a whole pot of coffee; he was completely awake and alert to the point of paranoia. Every sound and creak made his mind race—the outside world was tempting him to leave the house. Police sirens, babies crying, all the sounds that were so normal to New York’s daybreak made his thoughts spiral into thousands of different scenarios. There were so many ways things could go wrong; someone out there was _hurting_ because of him not being there to help. By the time Peter quelled his racing mind, he barely realized how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Vibrating with energy, Peter suited up. Before tugging on his mask he looked back at Wade, who was still fast asleep, drool leaking out of the side of his mouth. Peter shook his head, put on his mask, and smiled before sliding out the window. Wade wouldn’t mind him getting started without him. Peter was sure of it.

He didn’t even think twice about looking back.

As he swung from building to building, he could feel his excitement growing, like something inside of him was begging to get out. The rush of wind blowing against his cheeks, the crispness of the air, all of the feelings he had neglected for so long came rushing back to him. In that moment, he wondered how he had let himself quit being Spider-Man for even a second—it was _amazing_ being Spider-Man! Even though he had been out of it for so long, it was like he had never even taken a break to begin with. Peter was elated—he had never felt so alive, so _unstoppable._

Ideally, he would go on patrol and absolutely nothing would happen. An uneventful day was a _good_ day. Crime wasn’t a good thing, Peter didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but he was itching for a fight. It would have been ridiculous to pick a fight for no reason, but he was secretly hoping for one. Peter had no doubt he could take down at least ten guys—no, twenty. He knew he could take on a whole crowd of people and not even break a sweat, not even get _hit._

Landing on top of a larger building, he looked out at New York, the crack of dawn painting the sky with a blue and orange haze.The sky was so crisp and picturesque, overwhelmingly beautiful and indescribable. Sure, it was just a sunrise, but it was so much _more_ than usual. It was like someone had photoshopped his surroundings to be sharpened, look far better than they ever had his entire life. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Peter closed his eyes and breathed in assiduously, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. It was just nerves—that’s all it was. Not that long ago, it felt like his life had ended. Like there wasn’t any hope for him, like he was going to spend the rest of his days being useless.

But then, like always, Wade crashed into his life. Right place, right time.

Loving someone didn’t fix him, but it sure as hell helped with the recovery process. Peter had pulled himself out of bad times on his own before, but having a little help made everything easier. Wade helped him see how stupid he was being, or at least he had helped him clean up his act. It was funny to look back on, wasn’t it?

How had something so stupid made him so upset? It was _just_ divorce. Not a big deal. Sure, he thought he would be with MJ until the day he died, but that didn’t really matter anymore. It was in the past and it was barely worth wasting his energy on.

Peter sat on the ledge of the skyscraper and admired the view for a moment longer before pulling out his phone to type out a quick text to Wade. Peter’s hands were shaking—which was leading to a lot of ridiculous typos, but he didn’t care. If he was going to go out on his own, he should have at least sent Wade a message to let him know everything was okay.

As Peter typed a message to Wade, his spidey senses went haywire.

Before he had a chance to hit the send button, he dropped his phone and it tumbled hundreds of feet down before shattering on the sidewalk. Peter had worse things to worry about than his phone. Something had picked him up and thrown him _hard_. He slammed against a brick wall and tumbled down it, falling into an alleyway puddle. Peter tried to lift himself off the ground, only to slip and fall back down again. Searing pain shot through his entire body.

The first thing he noticed was that his healing factor wasn’t what it used to be. Peter ran his hand over his side, feeling the unmistakable pulsing tinge from a deep-cut wound. When he pulled his hand away, it was red with blood. It felt like he was healing, but it wasn’t quick enough. Peter knew his healing factor would kick in any second, so he didn’t have to worry too hard.

An ear-piercing screech boomed overhead. Whatever it was, it was _angry._

Finally able to pick himself up, he limped over to two trash cans and nestled himself in between them. It wasn’t ideal coverage, but it was workable. Peter winced and touched his injury again, groaning as his skin slowly stitched itself back together.

“I’m starting to think it would be quicker to get help from a walk-in clinic,” he murmured, voice breathy and shallow.

Of course, his first day back on the job and some super-strength powered _whatever_ blindsided him. Peter should have waited for Wade—it was utterly idiotic of him to go out alone. The backup would have been nice.

Peter leaned his head against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. If his phone hadn’t shattered into a million pieces, he would have called Wade.

“Alright, could _really_ use some help right about now,” Peter said as he stood up shakily, using the wall to balance himself. Another hit like that could potentially knock him out. If whatever attacked him was strong enough to pack a blow like that, Peter didn’t want to imagine what that would do to a civilian. Actually, he didn’t even have to imagine it. Something like that would _kill_ a civilian. End of story.

No matter what he was hit with—he always got back up. That was just being part of Spider-Man, wasn’t it? Even if he was going against the craziest, biggest, baddest guy, he was always able to _win_.  

Holding onto that single thought, Peter webbed himself up the building towards the noise. It didn’t matter what happened next—as long as he could keep everyone safe it would be okay.

Once he was at a higher vantage point, his attacker was clear as day. It was a bird, well, if something with a thirty-foot wingspan still counted as a bird. It appeared to be more like a pterodactyl, if anything. The creature dripped and oozed with black slime, its entire body covered in a sleek outer-shell. A piercing scream erupted from the bird-like monster, it’s maw sporting many razor-sharp teeth and a long tentacle-like tongue.

“Oh great, it’s a fucking—” The creature flapped its wings and charged at Peter, its talons swiping at him. After barely being able to dodge, he finished his sentence: “— _symbiote_.”

Dealing with a symbiote wasn’t the worst situation he could have landed in. After all, Peter had gone up against them too many times to count. His healing factor acting wonky was putting him at a slight disadvantage—Peter couldn’t afford to take too many unnecessary risks. Sure, it worked, but not fast enough, not the way he was used to.

There was no way he could let a symbiote stick around in a crowded area—he had to lead it away.

“Hey, birdbrain!” Peter called out, waving his arms up and down, “Come on! Come and get it!”

So much for not taking unnecessary risks.

At least he had caught its attention. It screeched and charged towards Peter, to which he turned around quickly and web thwipped away. There wasn’t any time to go get Wade—he just had to get it away from the city, get it somewhere where there weren’t as many buildings, fewer people.

Mid-thwip, his web-shooter made a sad sound, indicating it was out of juice.

Things got worse. Of course, things _always_ got worse for him.

As Peter began to fall, he cursed at himself for forgetting to do the most basic of things, as if he hadn’t been refilling his web-shooters his whole life. Luckily, his other web-shooter had something left in it, and with a definitive spray of web, he swung himself up onto a rooftop to catch his breath.

With no choice left but to run, Peter leapt from rooftop to rooftop, still attempting to lead the monster towards him. Without the speed of web-shooting, the symbiote was catching up, gaining on him. They were just far enough away from the more populated area of the city, far enough that if he could just get it to—

Peter was at a dead-end. No more buildings to leap to, no web-shooters, just the East River below. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and took a leap of faith.

Then, there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

_Pure white surrounded him. It reminded him of fresh fallen snow_ — _untainted, totally blinding, beautiful. Peter squinted, unable to make any sense of his surroundings; the light was far too bright for him to fully crack his eyes open. Despite being able to see nothing, a tightness in his chest persisted. There was a strange sensation washing over him, an extreme sense of déjà vu that he couldn’t attribute to anything. Putting his hands over his eyes to make a visor, Peter tried to get a better look around. A figure in the distance came into view. A smear of red in a pure white world._

_“Hey!” Peter called out, his voice hoarse. The figure moved. It was still blurry, but Peter knew who it was. It was a gut feeling that he couldn’t deny._

_“Wade?” he said, uncertain, scared. He was scared. Why was he so scared? It didn’t make sense. Nothing was around them, nothing could hurt them, yet he was more worried than he had ever felt in his life. It felt like he was suffocating._

_The figure began to walk away. There was nothing more terrifying than the idea of being alone. Not here. Not now._

_Peter started to run. His legs carried him as fast as he could go, yet he made no progress forward, he grew no closer to the figure. It just faded farther and farther away. Peter could feel himself screaming, but there was no sound leaving his mouth. Just pure white._

_Fresh fallen snow. Untainted. Blinding. Beautiful._

_He was alone._

* * *

 

Peter awoke with a start. Disoriented, he sat up and looked around at his surroundings. The bed was drenched in sweat and a dull pulse thrummed on the top of his head. Unable to crack his eyes open all the way, Peter attempted to quell the sudden feeling of nausea in his stomach by curling in on himself.

He was home in his bed— _safe_. Had it all been a dream? He breathed unevenly, sweat dripping from his brow. Peter hadn’t noticed Wade sitting in a chair by the bedside.

“Hey, Peter,” Wade said, sounding uncharacteristically worried. It was rare for him to sound so serious, to not tease him with a silly nickname or immediately go on some tangent. For the first time in a long time, Wade Wilson was almost completely quiet.

“Wade,” Peter replied, forcing himself to breathe steadily again. “Was I—did I?”

“Get chased halfway across the city by a symbiote? Yeah. Take a swim in the river? Yeah. Almost _die?_ Yeah,” Wade replied.

“The symbiote!” Peter panicked, throwing the covers off of himself. Before he had a chance to get out of the bed, Wade put a hand on his chest.

“Don’t worry. I handled it.” Wade cracked a smirk, although it felt stiff, almost forced. “Nothing a bluetooth speaker and a megaphone can’t fix. I’ve got a playlist for situations like this. Symbiotes can’t _stand_ Death Grips. Which is a shame, cause MC Ride is an experimental hip-hop visionary.”

Despite talking like he normally did, there was something strained about Wade’s tone—underlying worry that Peter had never heard from him before. Peter hadn’t ever seen Wade as a totally carefree person, but he had most certainly never heard Wade sound so concerned. Fearful, almost. Peter had never seen Wade fear anyone or anything—what did a man that couldn’t die _have_ to fear?

“Thanks. Thank you,” Peter said, averting his eyes as he pulled the covers over himself again.

The tension in the room was palpable, Wade’s uneasiness rubbing off on Peter. What could he say? What could he do?

“A call woulda been nice. A text, even,” Wade said, the hurt in his voice becoming more apparent. “I get it, you wanted to go back out there, but, you coulda,” Wade stopped himself mid-sentence, shaking his head before sighing deeply.

“No. It’s fine. You’re okay now and that’s what matters. I was just...worried. _Really_ worried,” Wade said.

The dim lighting of their home created a comforting atmosphere, something that Wade had no doubt done to put him at ease. Peter had no clue what time it was, but he could have easily guessed around rush hour from the persistent sound of car horns and general street life buzzing outside. Had he been out cold for the entire day? Suddenly, Peter’s heart sank. Wade must have found him, probably half-drowned. Wade had to have fought off the symbiote, then carried him back home. Wade had to wait a whole day for him to wake up, probably wondering _if_ he would wake up.

Peter felt like the world’s biggest asshole.

“I’m sorry, I, ugh,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t meet Wade’s eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I was anxious—no— _excited?_ I just. I couldn’t sleep. Sitting around was driving me _crazy_ , what else was I supposed to do? The itch to get back out there and prove myself was killing me. I needed to go, it’s been too long, and—”

“I get it, Pete,” Wade interrupted. “You really, really, _really_ wanna help people. You can’t do that if you’re dead, though.”

Could he have really died out there? Peter had been through worse beatings than that—but what if things _had_ gone differently? There was no recovering from splattering on pavement, no recovering from impalement. Broken bones and small injuries would heal up in no time—but he didn’t have a life-saving healing factor like Wade. He was still mortal in a lot of ways, even if he could take a heavier beating than the average man.

Peter groaned loudly and held his head in his hands. For being such a smart guy, he was a real _idiot_ sometimes.

“I lost myself for a while there, you know? With great power comes great responsibility—I’ve been living by those words for, what, twenty-three years? Practically my whole _life_ , Wade.” Peter looked up at Wade, finally catching his gaze. “But I haven’t lately. I’ve been letting everyone down and I have to make it up, I have to—”

“Who, _specifically_ , are you letting down?” Wade asked. “You can’t make it up to all eight million people in New York. I get it, responsibility and blah, blah, blah. But you need help, you’re just _one_ spider-guy. This city is chock-full of heroes and listen—they get the job done. New York’s survived without you. You needed a break, you’re only—”

“No, I just sat around and, and felt bad for myself! I— I—” Peter stumbled over his words, growing increasingly frustrated as he couldn’t find the right thing to say. Wade was right, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was somehow hurting someone by not helping.

“You’re depressed,” Wade said, matter of factly. There was no longer worry in his expression, he was neutral, almost unreadable.

“ _What?_ ”

“Peter, you’re depressed,” Wade repeated. “Or, like, manic? Both, probably. You don’t spend almost your whole life being a superhero without being a little fucked up. You hit a major depressive episode or something, and now I guess—I dunno. You’re bouncing back from it? It probably feels like you got all this energy or something, like you’re invincible.”

Somehow Wade, of all people, was giving sound advice. It made sense, didn’t it? Peter had just attributed the way he felt to being excited about getting back to work, but it had been a feeling that was different than just being excited.

“Wow. I guess that’s an accurate read, huh?” Peter shook his head and laughed. “I mean, doesn’t everyone get like that sometimes?” It most certainly hadn’t been the first time Peter had felt that way. In fact, he felt like that often—often enough to think it was normal. Peter hadn’t even considered some people didn’t feel that way at all.

“Most people have high-energy days, but mania’s a whole different ball game, Spidey. I mean, it’s like doing coke,” Wade said.

“I, uh, I haven’t done any sort of drug. Ever,” Peter replied.

“Yeah, well, what you were feeling earlier is sorta like doing coke. Or speed. People don’t feel that way normally, not without drugs.” Wade leaned back in his chair, smiling wryly.

“I’ve been there myself. Mania’s part of the whole mental illness margarita I got going on in here.” Wade tapped the side of his head. “You know, one shot of mania, two shots of schizophrenia, five-hundred shots of PTSD, a whole lot of other shit. Shaken—not stirred.”

Wade was fucked up, that much was true. Peter never would have thought they had so much in common, at least with the whole mental health thing. For years he had assumed he was a completely healthy guy, but Peter was starting to realize how good at lying to himself he was.

“Next time, just bring me with you. You can wake me up any time, you _don’t_ have to do this alone. I don’t want you to do it alone,” Wade said, leaning forward in his chair. There was sadness in his eyes again, the kind that was impossible to hide. Peter could tell Wade was trying to be strong for him despite having his own baggage to deal with.

Peter got up out of the bed and winced, stumbling slightly when he realized how much pain he was in. But still, he shuffled closer to Wade, and eventually sat down on his lap facing him. Wade cupped Peter’s cheek in his hand and looked up at him.

“Baby boy, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Wade struggled to speak the sentence—his voice was strained, it sounded like he was walking on a tightrope. His gaze was intense, like he was concentrating on keeping himself afloat.

Both of them had lost so many people over the years. There was no reason they had to lose each other.

“I love you, Wade,” Peter said, brushing his lips against Wade’s neck tenderly. He held Wade as if he would disappear. There were no words he could say to take away the hurt and worry he had caused. All Peter wanted was a moment, just one moment where they could hold each other and forget about the future.

“I love you too, Peter,” Wade replied. Peter pulled away slightly and they stared into each other’s eyes. As cheesy as it was, Peter could get lost in his eyes—he felt safe when he looked at Wade.

As if they had decided on it unanimously, they met halfway and fell into a deep and passionate kiss.There wasn’t a sexual charge to the kiss; there wasn’t the usual desperate roughness or impatience. When they kissed, it was for the pure sake of being close, of feeling each other and not wanting to let go. Peter wrapped his arms around Wade and held him, kissing him tenderly. He just wanted to let Wade know he was okay—that they would _both_ be okay. As they broke the kiss, Peter felt like his heart was melting. Their faces were inches away from each other, Wade’s breath softly brushing against his cheek. After sighing deeply, Wade put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and squeezed them firmly.

“Listen, Petey, as much as I want to see Spidey back out there kickin’ ass and taking names—you gotta ease back into the whole superhero thing.” Wade said. “If you rush into it, you’re going to get hurt. Don’t you have some other things you want to take care of before diving back into this shitstorm?”

Wade had a point, after all, he had spent months in a near-useless depressive state. Sure, his body was ready—but was his mind? Maybe he had gotten over MJ, but had he made amends with her? How could he go out there and give one-hundred percent as Spider-Man if he was ignoring the other side of him? Peter had to confront everything he had ignored if he was going to fully move on.

He had to do things right.

“Ease back in. Got it,” Peter said. “I actually _do_ have something I need to take care of.”

* * *

Closure. The whole idea of getting closure was a joke. Was there really such a thing? Had they ever talked about the straw that broke the camel’s back? Would it matter if they did? They had both moved on, the past was in the past, at least it was supposed to be. There was no reason to leave MJ behind—they were still friends. Even if their marriage had failed, they had a special bond that wasn’t going to disappear overnight. Maybe their friendship would be different, given their history, but they could still be friends nonetheless.

Peter inhaled deeply and stood in front of the coffee shop. It would be fine—they were just catching up for a little. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and turned away from the door. After scolding himself, he turned back around and stepped inside. It would be okay, it was just Mary Jane, she didn’t bite, well, not _usually_ at least.

As soon as he stepped in, he locked eyes with her almost instantly.

There she was, already sitting at a table. She waved, her fingers wiggling delicately, that usual keen smirk of hers plastered on her face. Peter approached, and MJ stood up. The two hugged in a way that was familial, yet welcoming. After shrugging off his jacket, he sat down. Two coffees were already on the table.

“Did you order for me?” Peter asked, huffing out a surprised laugh.

“You’ve been ordering the same drink for twenty years, Peter,” she smiled.

Despite the past animosity they had, for a moment things felt like the way they used to be. It was strange meeting up with her again, but he was glad they were doing it. Even if there was no reason to feel nervous, Peter’s leg jittered anxiously. Things would be different—they could be _friends._

“How are things? You look,” MJ gave him a quick once over. “You look good. You seem good, that is.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I am good. Are you good?”

“I’m great,” she said, smiling at Peter’s natural nervousness. They hadn’t seen each other since they split—it had almost been half a year. All of their chats, up until they agreed to meet, had been business-like and distant. Just the idea of being able to hold a conversation with Mary Jane again made him sweat.

Mary Jane tilted her head mischievously and said, “I’ve been seeing Spider-Man around again.”

Peter looked like he was ready to vibrate out of existence from how frazzled he was.

“Oh, really? He’s uh,” Peter’s voice cracked and held his coffee in his hands, nervously fidgeting with the lid. “Yeah, he’s back isn’t he? Crazy. Wonder where he was all that time.”

“I wonder if he’s being careful,” MJ mused, her eyebrows raising. “Seems like my Facebook feed is nothing but Spider-Man videos these days. And, hey, get this. I’ve seen him around with—”

“Oh, please can we not—”

“— _Deadpool._ Can you believe it?” MJ was smiling widely, obviously getting a kick out of pushing Peter’s buttons. Peter buried his head in his hands in embarrassment. “They seem close,” she remarked.

“They are close. _Really_ close,” Peter put his elbow on the table and leaned into his hand.

“How close?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Peter responded, “I’m not Spider-man.”

The low chatter of the coffee shop was interrupted by a deafening bang. Outside the window of the shop, what looked like a giant octopus held a person in its tentacles. It reared back and threw the person, and they skid across the pavement. Without missing a beat, they popped up into a standing position and waved at the coffee shop.

Deadpool was there to save the day.

Peter rolled his eyes and groaned. Deadpool’s waving was cut short by the creature grabbing him again and throwing him halfway up the street. Peter shot Mary Jane a frantic look.

“I gotta—”

“Yeah, yeah,” MJ rolled her eyes playfully and rested her hand on her cheek. “Go get em, Tiger.”

Peter chugged his coffee, wiped his face with his sleeve, and set the cup down on the table. “We’ll catch up again soon, uh, well, I’ll text you, actually no, stay here, this should take like only a second,” he rambled, before darting out of building, the jingling of the cafe’s door bells following him.

Moments later, Peter ran into an alleyway, and Spider-Man emerged.

Talking to MJ had proved to be a far better idea than he originally thought. She had moved on, and he had too; meeting with her had eased any underlying anxiety he had. They could be friends again, even if they were different people. Having that closure invigorated him, made him feel like he had someone to fight for. Peter still wanted to fight for MJ, protect her, even if they weren’t married, even if they weren’t friends. Knowing that he could keep just one person safe, that was enough to keep him going.

So when Peter flung himself towards the giant tentacle monster, he thought of saving her from it.

Punching an octopus was definitely as disgusting as he thought it would be, but he still did some damage, still tired the thing down. Wade charged forward, guns blazing, his entire posture perking up when he noticed Spider-Man had joined him.

“Hey, Spidey, fancy meeting you here. Do you like sushi?” Wade unsheathed his swords.

“Love it,” Peter replied, already knowing Wade was setting up a corny joke.

“Great! Cause I’m making sashimi!” As expected, Wade sliced through several of the monster’s tentacles, each appendage hitting the street with a deafening thud. “Bon appétit! Octopus à la carte!” After losing its limbs, the monster was out of commission.

Peter swung down and landed by Wade’s side, staring at the creature with his arms crossed. “So, we’re gonna have to figure out why giant monsters are showing up like this. Who’s next—Mothra?”

“God, I hope. I’d _die_ for that guy’s signature,” Wade replied. “Don’t you have a friend date to get back to? You need me to hang around? ” Wade gestured to the coffee shop with his thumb.

“Wade,” Peter said, “You can stay as long as you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! this will be the last chapter of this story. i know i could technically write more, but i'm just so bad at writing multi-chapter stuff! ( ; •~•)/
> 
> i enjoy writing oneshots much more, but i'm still glad i gave this a try. i hope whoever reads this story has fun with it, despite its flaws.
> 
> thank you tim & mary for editing. my stories would be heaping piles of trash without them!
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andouilles)


End file.
